


Delirium

by mithrel



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Blanket Permission, M/M, Podfic Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-12
Updated: 2009-07-12
Packaged: 2017-11-11 00:06:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithrel/pseuds/mithrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has a fever.  While he’s delirious, he gives something away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delirium

Merlin rearranged the covers on Arthur’s bed yet again. The Prince had a fever, and kept kicking them off.

He sighed. The last week had been harrowing, but Arthur was finally on the mend. Last Wednesday Arthur had woken up looking much the worse for wear. When Merlin had remarked on it, Arthur had brushed him off with a “Nonsense, Merlin, I feel fine.”

He’d insisted that Merlin put on his armour, although he’d been sweating with the weight. When he’d staggered on the way to the training field, he’d blamed it on the rough ground.

But not even Arthur could shrug it off when he’d collapsed in the middle of the first bout.

Gaius had been summoned, while Merlin took off Arthur’s armour and put him to bed. He’d been burning up, and Gaius had been concerned. He’d told Merlin to stay with him, and do what he could to keep his fever down (“Like I’d leave him when he’s like this!”) and gone to make up a potion.

So three times a day, silently apologising, Merlin held Arthur’s nose and forced him to drink, while he groaned, even unconscious, and tried feebly to push him away.

Uther had come in several times, which made Merlin nervous. He’d stayed at a respectful distance for the most part, only coming near the two of them when he needed to tend to Arthur. Uther had ignored him the entire time.

They were alone now, and the potions seemed to be working; Arthur’s fever hadn’t yet broken, but he no longer felt scalding to the touch.

As Merlin mopped his forehead for the thousandth time, Arthur moaned. That was nothing unusual; he’d been moaning since this started, trapped in a fever-dream.

But he was moaning _Merlin’s name._

Merlin jerked his arm away, but Arthur caught it, and pressed his lips to the pulse point.

Merlin froze.

Arthur’s moans subsided, and he sighed contentedly, then sank back into sleep.

***

The next day, Merlin was woken by the sound of someone stirring.

He looked up from the pallet on the floor to see Arthur sitting up, looking dazed.

He went over to the bed. “Welcome back.”

“Merlin?” Arthur asked, sounding muzzy. “What happened?”

“You’ve been ill with a fever. Don’t you remember?”

“I remember…dreams.” He froze suddenly. “Did I say anything, while I had the fever?”

“No. You moaned a lot, that’s all.” The relief on Arthur’s face was staggering. “Only…”

Arthur tensed again. “Only _what?_ ” he snapped, when Merlin didn’t continue.

“Yesterday you were…” he blushed. “Moaning my name.”

Arthur paled, then put an arm over his face and groaned.

“And you…kissed my hand,” Merlin mumbled, embarrassed but needing to tell Arthur about it.

Arthur’s arm dropped, and he stared at him in horror. “I _didn’t!_ ”

He sounded appalled.

“I don’t mind, really!” Merlin assured him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Merlin told him. “It wasn’t your fault, you were delirious! I’d better tell Gaius you’ve woken.”

And he fled the room before Arthur could say anything else.

***

They didn’t mention Arthur’s fever again, but Merlin couldn’t stop thinking about him.

He was even more inept than usual, prompting Arthur to remark that a crippled dwarf would be a more efficient manservant than Merlin.

He wandered around with a completely mooncalf expression on his face. Gaius asked him at least twice a day if he was feeling alright.

To top it all, he had started Dreaming about Arthur again. He'd thought he’d managed to convince his subconscious that Arthur would never return his feelings, but that kiss had stirred everything up again.

_He was out of his head, you saw him, he was horrified when you told him what happened. It doesn’t mean anything._

But his heart wasn’t convinced of that.

Lately Arthur had taken to giving him concerned looks…and _only_ concerned looks. Merlin convinced himself that anything else was only in his imagination.

***

One day, nearly a month after Arthur had recovered from the fever, Merlin was cleaning the fireplace when Arthur came in.

“Ah, Merlin, I’m glad you’re here.”

“Why?” he asked suspiciously, standing up. _He’s going to tell me to muck out the stables again._

“We need to talk.”

 _Even worse. Nothing good ever came of those words._ “What did you want to talk about, sire?”

Arthur looked surprised. “Why the respect all of a sudden?”

“I thought you were trying to instill a sense of place in me?” Merlin teased, to hide his nervousness.

Arthur laughed. “I’ve given up. It’s hopeless.”

Merlin laughed too, then sobered. “So what did you want to talk about?”

Arthur shifted slightly, suddenly uncomfortable. “This is kind of an awkward subject for me.”

“You know I’ll keep your secrets.”

Arthur sighed. “Yes, I know. I just don’t know how you’ll react.”

 _How I’ll react?_ “I promise not to make any snap decisions, if that helps.”

“It…does. But you can’t tell anyone about this! If they found out…” he trailed off into silence.

Merlin was mildly insulted. “I’ve said I wouldn’t, haven’t I?”

Arthur sighed. “You’re the worst manservant I’ve ever had.”

This _is an awkward subject?_ “You tell me so often enough.”

“But you’re…you’re a really good friend.” Arthur refused to look at him.

“Thank you,” Merlin said, surprised.

“You’re not afraid of me,” Arthur said quietly. “Everyone else is.”

“No they’re not…” Merlin protested, even though he knew Arthur was right.

“Yes they are!” Arthur burst out. “They’re afraid of me because of what I can do to them, or because of who my father is!” His voice suddenly went so quiet Merlin had to strain to hear him. “I don’t want people to be afraid of me.”

Merlin nodded sadly. “Sometimes people fear you because of what you are before even getting to know you.”

“Exactly!” Arthur said in surprise. Then his voice turned suspicious. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

“I am,” Merlin replied, knowing what a risk he was taking.

“Why would anyone be afraid of you?”

 _Not me, specifically, but sorcerers. Your father saw to that._ “It’s not important,” he said, though he’d never been more tempted to tell Arthur his secret.

Arthur frowned, but let it go. He sighed again. “As I said, Merlin, I don’t want people to be afraid of me. I want to be respected, not feared. _You_ respect me. And I had to _earn_ that respect. With everyone else they gave it to me because it was my due.” He stopped, then continued as if admitting something shameful. “For a long while I thought it was.”

“You’ve changed a lot in the past year,” Merlin replied, since some sort of answer seemed to be required.

“More than you know,” Arthur murmured. Then, “I…care about you, Merlin. A lot.”

Merlin was surprised that Arthur had actually admitted it. “I care about you, too.” _Too much._

“No, I mean…” Arthur growled, then moved over and took Merlin’s hands in his. “I _care_ about you.”

Merlin was floored. He’d never expected this, but there was no other way to interpret Arthur’s actions. “You mean…?”

Arthur nodded, his eyes averted, but didn’t let go of his hands.

“Arthur?” Merlin asked, deciding to take what in other circumstances might be a foolish risk.

“Hmm?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Arthur stared at him in shock, then nodded mutely.

So Merlin took Arthur’s face in his hands and kissed him.


End file.
